


As You Wish

by Lalaen



Category: Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Alley Sex, Hair-pulling, M/M, Public Hand Jobs, Semi-Public Sex, Teasing, Trans Male Character, Trans Warden (Dragon Age), Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-20
Updated: 2021-03-20
Packaged: 2021-03-29 02:41:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,957
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30149517
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lalaen/pseuds/Lalaen
Summary: Cyralen Surana is bad at waiting, regardless of where they are. A tavern without a room - whatever. He wants, and Zevran is only too happy to provide.
Relationships: Zevran Arainai/Male Surana, Zevran Arainai/Male Warden
Comments: 1
Kudos: 15





	As You Wish

“Zev, _now_ ,” Cyralen muttered in his flat voice. The ache between his legs wasn’t subsiding, and every time he tensed his thighs he got the tiniest teasing spark down there. Ugh, fuck. 

The assassin’s gaze slid towards him over the rim of his mug of ale. “Mm?” His eyes wandered slowly downwards, fixating pointedly on what was blocked by the sticky tavern table between them. 

Cyr answered by kicking Zevran under the table. He just got a chuckle for that, and when Zev lowered his mug it was to reveal a wolfish grin. “Maybe I am wrong, mi amor; but I don’t think we have a room, no?”

“Since when has that been a problem for you,” the warden scoffed. Where he was sitting, he could see Oghren drunkenly harassing that dwarf woman - who seemed to enjoy it, bafflingly - and Leliana perched at the bar, watching like it was the most entertaining play she’d ever seen. Cyr honestly did not give a shit if both of them noticed him and Zevran leaving, it wasn’t like this never happened. Quite the opposite. He’d been young when he left his clan, but he’d still heard of pal’isalthe. It wasn’t until recently that he began to suspect that the rumours of the Dalish feeling that hunger more often than others were not, in fact, rumours at all. 

Fortunately, Zevran had no complaints whatsoever. But sometimes he liked to pretend he did. Because he was a bastard. 

The assassin got up, but before Cyralen could follow him; he simply slid into the bench on Cyr’s side, blocking him in. There was literally no point in asking what he was doing, so the warden levelled him with an irate glare which also had no effect. He leaned in until Cyr could feel his breath, but the warden just met his seductive, heavy-lidded gaze with an unimpressed one, and didn’t move an inch. 

He expected Zevran to kiss him - or even more likely, tease the kiss until he was frustrated enough to snap and do it himself. He didn’t expect an insistent hand pressing its way between his thighs. Two fingers crooked confidently against the heat there, and Cyr had to gasp for breath before he had the chance to be offended. 

“That’s a lovely face you are making,” Zevran purred against the shell of his ear. 

Zev’s fingers against his hole, pressing the wet fabric of his smalls against him, were enough to send a jolt of hunger from his stomach all the way down to his toes. He curled them inside his boots, but didn’t give the assassin the satisfaction of looking at him, instead scowling straight ahead. 

Two men started arguing by the bar. Zevran rubbed excruciatingly slow circles through his breeches. 

“Fuck me,” Cyralen said flatly. 

“Oh?” The idiot feigned surprise, cocking his head like a pup. “And where would I do that?”

“Ugh, out back, I don’t care,” Cyr tensed his thighs again, squeezing Zevran’s hand between them. That just put a craving hook of need deep inside him, and he literally felt himself get wetter when the unbidden thought of the assassin’s cock filling him flew through his head.

“And if someone sees?” Maker’s tits, but Zev’s acting was bad. Couldn’t even start to hide how excited that idea made him. His breath was hot in Cyralen’s ear, the softness of his lower lip brushing against the lobe. Cyr throbbed against his fingers. 

“If someone sees, you better not shoot instantly,” the Warden snapped, shoving Zevran away with the heel of his hand. “I’ll break your nose.”

“Hmm, now you tempt me...”

There was the crash of shattering glass, and Oghren’s lady friend started screaming about how he was a great stinking bronto dick, or something like that. Cyralen shifted around where he sat, unable to sit still, forcing himself not to rock against Zevran’s touch. “Move,” he growled, jabbing the assassin in the side. 

“As you wish,” Zevran purred, sliding out of the bench and giving Cyralen a smouldering look before he turned and went out the back door of the tavern. He had a confident swagger in his step even more than usual, and didn’t so much as glance back; knowing Cyr was going to come. He was infuriating. The warden stood up abruptly to follow, even though he hated proving Zevran right. _As if_ he had the self control to refuse himself a good pounding. 

Cyralen pushed past someone unfortunate enough to be in his way, his breeches rubbing up against him with every step. He felt eyes on him. 

It was Leliana. She gave him a bemused, knowing look over the rim of her mug, and he glowered back at her. She did a playful little wave. Bitch. 

The alleyway was dark, lit only by a sputtering tallow lantern nearly twenty feet away. The view of the Circle tower was blocked by the scant other buildings between them and the docks, but being so close to it was somehow almost an additional thrill. Somewhere that he’d spent so many nights alone and consumed by desire. Cyralen saw only the flat golden flash of Zevran’s eyes reflecting the light before he grabbed him blindly and mashed their faces together in an aggressive kiss. Of course he tasted bitterly of cheap ale, but that was the least of Cyr’s concerns just now. If the mage wasn’t wearing breeches, his juices would be starting to drip down his thighs. As it was, he was an uncomfortable sticky mess that Zevran wasn’t dealing with fast enough for his liking. He twined a leg around the assassin’s and rubbed against him insistently. 

Zevran’s low chuckle was disgustingly hot. His hands took Cyralen’s wrists in an iron grip. The smooth, worn leather on his palms and the roughness of his calloused fingertips was making the mage wild in a way he couldn’t quite justify. Zevran whipped him around as gracefully as if they were doing a dance; yet as forcefully as if he was a threat, and shoved him face first against the wall. Cyr snarled as his cheek pressed against the rough wooden wall, and he felt a few stray locks of hair snag on splinters and pull from his braid. 

“Sahl’in,” Cyralen snapped, and Zevran made a tutting noise with his tongue. 

“Espera, mi amor,” Zev whispered huskily in his ear, pressing up against him. It made Cyralen throb even though he couldn’t feel anything other than the hanging leather tassets of Zevran’s armour pressing against his ass. 

“Fuck me before someone sees.”

He may not be able to feel Zev’s cock, but the way the assassin’s body stiffened told Cyr all he needed to know. As soon as his hands were released, it was a fumbling battle between them as to who could pull his breeches down first. Zevran’s hands knocked into his and he slapped them away; only to get a retaliatory pinch to the meat of his thigh. Between the two of them, they got his breeches and smalls down enough to expose him. 

It wasn’t particularly cold, but the night air hitting his wetness was enough to make Cyralen shiver. He planted his hands firmly against the wall again; arching his back to present himself, and waited impatiently. That bar fight was getting louder; he could dimly hear the cadence of it through the wall, shouting and the shattering of glass and the pitch of the dwarf’s voice as she tried to shut them up - or maybe she was still just yelling at Oghren. Cyr could hear his own panting breath, and the rustling as Zevran got his clothes out of the way, and felt his thighs shake with anticipation. Though Zev might be an idiot (his idiot, Cyralen thought grudgingly), he was not stupid enough to tease with fingers when it was so clear that his partner was achingly ready. His fingers dug into Cyr’s hip, and the warden throbbed knowing that he was in position, that any moment now…

Cyralen’s sharp gasp cut the relative silence of the alleyway like a knife when Zevran sheathed himself all at once, the head of his cock slipping against the warden’s folds for only the briefest moment before he filled him. The delicious stretch made Cyralen groan, the desire that clawed at his gut crowing its delight that someone was finally satisfying it. As a circle mage, Cyr had always imagined a ‘desire demon’ as being like pal’isalathe, giving one a need for sex so insatiable that they became an abomination. The reality had been almost funny to him in comparison.

He canted his hips back, feeling his muscles flutter, and Zevran purred an ‘mmm’ in response. Cyralen hardly had a moment to dig his nails against the wall and pant for breath before the assassin started up a pace that, in this position, slammed into the depths of him and made him see stars. He growled, rolled his hips back, met Zev with as good as he got. 

Zevran had once joked, in that way he had where he admitted sort of worrying things as though they were part of everyone’s everyday life; that he’d always actually been better at the fucking than the killing; as much as he enjoyed both. Cyralen, who’d tasked himself with keeping a close eye on the idiot to fireball darkspawn out of his way when he left himself open and fell straight on his ass, was very inclined to agree with this. There seemed to be no limit on the heights of pleasure he could inflict when he wanted to, and doing so made him radiant with happiness - or at least doing so to Cyralen.

“H-harder,” he choked out, feeling himself already nearing his peak. It was a good thing he had the wall to hold himself up, because his legs hardly felt up to it anymore. His little groan of frustration was apparently enough to tell Zevran what he needed, because one hand shifted from his hip, slid along the line of muscle to his mound with an almost reverent caress. As soon as his fingers rubbed Cyr’s clit in time with his tireless thrusts, the warden crested into a numbing bliss. Zevran grabbed him by the braid, pulling him up so they were back-to-chest as he rode it out. Who the fuck else could turn rough alleyway sex into an intimate embrace? The assassin’s strong arm encircled his waist, holding himself deep as Cyralen gasped and spasmed against him. 

The warden reached behind himself as Zev nuzzled into the crook of his neck, gripping a handful of blonde hair to hold him in return. Zevran muttered something in Antivan, his lips hot against Cyralen’s skin. 

“Don’t come inside me,” Cyr mumbled back, even as he squeezed his thighs together to make himself tighter. 

“I would not dream of it,” Zevran said, with another of his delicious dark chuckles.

Cyralen squirmed in his hold, which broke immediately, and spun to grab him in another aggressive kiss that had their teeth clacking together. He wrapped his hand around Zevran’s cock, still slick with his juices, and started stroking. 

Light flooded out of the tavern as the door opened a crack, the muffled sounds from inside sharpening and doubling in volume. 

“Boys,” Leliana said in her cheerful, soft whisper; without so much as a sharp intake of breath. “So sorry to interrupt... but when you are finished, I’m afraid I will need your help with Oghren. He is... no longer conscious.” 

“Just a minute,” Cyralen snarled, tightening his grip. 

“... or you could, mmm, join in perhaps?”

“ _Zevran!_ ” Cyr and Leliana said almost in unison - though Leliana did not sound ... quite as scandalized as the warden would have expected.

**Author's Note:**

> pal'isalathe - sexual desire  
> sahl'in - hurry  
> Espera, mi amor - wait, my love (this is just spanish)


End file.
